Ne Plus Ultra
by Del Rion
Summary: "My name is Claire Bennet, and this is attempt number… I guess I've kinda lost count." What exactly did Claire think would happen when she told the world about specials? A peaceful co-existence? Peter isn't sure, but he can see it's not working out as ...


**Story Info**

**Title:** Ne Plus Ultra

**Author:** Del Rion

**Fandom:** Heroes

**Era:** Post season 4

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** T / FRT

**Characters:** Claire Bennet, Noah Bennet, Edgar, Hesam, Hiro Nakamura, Ando Masahashi, Matt Parkman, Peter Petrelli, Micah Sanders, Sylar (, Emma Coolidge, Mohinder Suresh)

**Summary:** _"My name is Claire Bennet, and this is attempt number… I guess I've kinda lost count."_ What exactly did Claire think would happen when she told the world about specials? A peaceful co-existence? Peter isn't sure, but he can see it's not working out as everyone might have hoped.  
Complete.

**Written for:** _Heroes Big Boom_'s Round Four at LiveJournal.

**Warnings:** Implied violence, torture and death. Language. Spoilers for season 4 ending (+ previous season).

**Artist:** Jenny (crossroad_x LiveJournal) [find art at my other posting locations (=website, LiveJournal)]

**Beta:** Mythra (huge thanks to her, as always!)

**Disclaimer:** The show, its characters, places and everything else belong to Tim Kring and other respective creators and owners of 'Heroes'. I have made no profit by writing this story, and make no claim over the show.

**Feedback:** If you read AND review, you're awesome. I hope you enjoy the fic nonetheless.

* * *

**About _Ne Plus Ultra_:** I had a pretty good idea about how I wanted this story to begin. The premise set by the volume that never happened was too delicious to pass up.

The end of the story was a bit hazy at first, but in the end it finished in a very suitable way, I think. Overall I personally think I could have done a better job on this fic, but hopefully someone finds it entertaining and enjoyable.

Once again my focus is a bit more on Peter than anyone else, but Sylar also makes a solid stand here. Between those two, and a world in chaos after finding out about specials… it's going to be a new world indeed, and one definitely needs to be brave to face it.

Enjoy.

**

* * *

Story and status:** Below you see the writing process of the story. If there is no text after the title, then it is finished and checked. Possible updates shall be marked after the title.

**Ne Plus Ultra

* * *

**

* * *

Written for **Heroes Big Boom**'s Round Four at LiveJournal.

**

* * *

Ne Plus Ultra

* * *

**

A teenager ran into a dark alley from a dimly lit street, a puddle from a recent rain splashing beneath his foot, spraying water high up his legs. He didn't stop, slow down, or even swear. He kept running, frantically avoiding collision with large garbage cans and boxes stored in the alley.

Behind him, a group of people entered the alley, hesitating for a bit but dashing forward again, the spitting image of an angry mob.

The boy kept running, trying to be faster, squeezing himself through a tear in an iron fence at the other end of the alley. His clothes were caught for a moment, a sharp edge drawn against his skin here and there, but he pulled free eventually. He could hear bodies hitting the fence in his wake, rattling it, angry shouts following him. He knew it wouldn't hold them forever.

Dashing into the street, he dared to hope he had made it. For a brief moment, there were no more people running after him, no more words of hatred hurled at him for no reason. Maybe he had made it…

A shot rang in the air and he felt something hot run right through him, the impact bringing him down to the asphalt. Gasping at the pain that tore through him, his insides clenching, he still tried to crawl away, the hope of losing his foes slowly slipping away.

"Thought you could outrun us, you freak?" someone asked from above him. He had never heard anyone speak like that, other than in movies, until now. It felt so unreal, but it wasn't, and it scared him.

"I'm not…" he tried to speak, tried to move away, but someone struck him on the head with something hard, making it impossible to move. Another hit, and another, and another, and slowly the pain turned to throbbing, fading fast, and then finally came… nothing.

* * *

"_A teenage boy was brutally murdered last night in Western Ohio.__ Other students from his school had made accusations that he was one of the so-called 'specials', circulating rumors of bizarre attacks that have been proven false in the investigation following the killing. This was only one of the many incidents that have been occurring ever since a young woman called Claire Bennet –"_

Peter looked up as the TV turned off without warning, then raised his eyes to meet the brown ones beneath heavy eyebrows. Part of him was relieved that he no longer had to listen to the report of just another innocent person dying. There were so many of them these days, persecuted and hurt, and he couldn't help them all…

"Why do you watch the news when you know you won't like what's on there?" Sylar asked, stepping past to sit down beside him on the couch.

"Maybe I need to see it for myself."

"As if you're likely to forget what's going on even if you weren't constantly reminding yourself of it," Sylar snorted.

Peter glared at him, trying to find something to accuse him of in return. "You didn't ring the bell," he finally said.

"It's been broken for three months, Peter," Sylar noted.

"You could have knocked."

"You wouldn't have answered."

"Then it probably means I didn't want to see you."

Sylar sighed, leaning back. It was strange how… fragile he seemed, in a way. If Peter hadn't seen the change happen himself, while trapped inside Sylar's head in a nightmare Matt Parkman created, he would have thought Sylar had gone insane – or soft. The last few months hadn't been easy on either of them, and Peter wasn't always certain what Sylar had thought would happen when Claire burst the bubble that had protected them for so long. After all, Sylar had looked rather pleased that night at the carnival in Central Park, but now he merely looked tired.

"Are you still mad at me about that fight we had?" Sylar finally asked, looking at him again.

"Unless you have changed your mind, then yes," Peter stated, looking down at his paramedic uniform which he had been in the process of patching up when the news came on. It was increasingly difficult to be in that job when everyone was being suspicious of their fellow workers, suspecting everyone to be 'special'.

Peter was special, of course, and while it would have been easier to tell everyone, he knew it would just create friction and unnecessary fear between him and other people. After all, that was exactly what was happening everywhere else right now. At first, some hadn't believed it, and scientists had demanded facts to back up the claims that there were people with abilities. That had turned into curiosity, and in some cases fear, which soon promoted mistrust and violence. After all, not everyone's power was like Claire's healing ability, which was relatively harmless to other people.

Wanting to change the subject for a bit, knowing it wasn't good that he dwelled on these thoughts around the clock, Peter raised his eyes from his work to briefly look at Sylar. He still called him that, although some people preferred 'Gabriel' now that he wasn't slicing open skulls anymore; it was hard to tell which name Sylar himself preferred, though. Guess it depended on the day and his mood.

The man looked a little disheveled although he didn't smell dirty or anything. Maybe the weather outside was bad, tossing about his hair and clothes… Peter shook his head, wondering when he would stop observing him, looking for clues. In the months following the events of the carnival, he and Sylar had stayed together at Peter's apartment. It had been a bit strange, having another person there, not to mention the man who killed his brother. But what stood foremost in Peter's mind was the time they spent together in the dream world Matt forced them into. Ever since that time, when Claire was out there revealing their existence to the public, Peter tended to watch Sylar, as if dreading he would turn back into his old self.

He never did. Sylar stayed the same, calm and almost child-like, yet beneath that was still the hardness created by the years of killing, betrayals and trust issues. It seemed he trusted Peter, though, and they got some kind of system going.

Since Sylar was still wanted for several murders, getting him his own place was tricky. Noah Bennet was so busy trying to keep a leash on Claire that he couldn't help, and for some reason Peter thought maybe he didn't want to, either. Work was just another obstacle, and while they had tried to figure it out, Sylar stayed at home, hidden from the world, and Peter went to work just like always.

They had had a routine which allowed them a fairly normal life, but the world was going to hell around them. Or that's what Peter believed. Sylar wasn't so sure, and he wanted to see new hope in the change. Peter didn't think his opinion mattered much, since he was a wanted criminal, at which point Sylar had lost his patience.

"You keep bringing that up whenever it suits you," he had said.

"Well, if you don't like it, why don't you go to Claire and see if her opinion of you is a better one." As soon as Peter has said it, Sylar had got up and left. Peter heard that he went to Claire as he had suggested, but his welcome there was far from warm. Clearly she still held a grudge towards Sylar and the way he had cut open her head…

After that Peter lost track of Sylar for several weeks – not that he cared, as long as there were no reports of bizarre murders occurring in some part of the country. They had enough problems as it was.

"Do you remember the last time we saw each other?" Sylar suddenly spoke up.

Peter glanced at him and accidentally pushed the needle right into his finger. With a wince he put the finger in his mouth glaring at Sylar a bit as he waited for him to go on.

"I came back, after visiting Claire, and you had just come back from your shift. That was the night they beat up that man and torched him because the word on the street was he was one of us…"

Peter would never forget that night. When the dispatch had come through, he had been the first to arrive at the scene. He could still remember the smell of gasoline and burning flesh; he saw the man lying on the ground, drenched and shivering. Then the brief spark of a lighter and the terrible scream following the fiery explosion. One of the bystanders also caught fire, the jeers changing into cries of pain, but Peter didn't care about him. He would have loved to watch him burn like the man on the ground.

"He didn't make it," Peter said with a tone he wished to be indifferent, but which instead was sad and weak.

"When I came in, you were sitting on the couch, still in your uniform, and the entire apartment smelled of burnt meat," Sylar offered, although Peter didn't need his memory to be encouraged like that; he could still remember the sense of failure he had felt that night, crushing him. Had he been faster… If only he had had an ability that would have saved the man. Maybe there had been more he could have done for him on the way to the hospital where he died within the hour.

"That was the night we fought. About Claire. About the truth. About the future."

"I remember. I was there," Peter snarled at Sylar, standing up, almost jabbing himself with the needle again as he threw down his uniform, still unfinished. "And I know you still think she's right, and that people have the right to know about us – that we have the right to be ourselves in their midst."

He headed into the kitchen, and he heard Sylar get up and follow him. "Do you always have to get so mad when we talk about this?"

"I'm mad because I'm the one who cleans up after you!" Peter shouted as he turned, making Sylar stop short a few feet from him. "Claire's out there, parading as the 'face of the specials', and I have to watch as people get killed because of that. People who are not like us! And it's getting worse, all the time, everywhere."

Sylar blinked and looked at him, then calmly reached over to one of the cupboards, retrieving a mug he always liked best when he still stayed here and filled it with fresh coffee Peter had been waiting to brew before he arrived. Sylar still acted like he lived here, and Peter wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

"Where have you been?" he asked. "After the fight I didn't see you for months."

Sylar smiled, leaning against a counter. Peter wasn't sure what was so funny. "I didn't leave New York. I stayed here, and whenever you were at work… and you're at work all the time, Pete… I would come back here, to shower, to shave, sometimes eat or just take a nap and watch TV. And I would be gone by the time you came home."

Peter lifted his finger, opening his mouth to speak, but for a moment he wasn't sure what exactly it was he wanted to say. He didn't like it when Sylar called him 'Pete', because that was Nathan's line – and a painful reminder that his brother was gone, thanks to this man. Secondly, he was outraged that Sylar had been here, all along, abusing Peter's hospitality. Sort of.

"You've been here, all this time?" Peter finally asked to confirm he had understood.

Sylar shrugged, taking another sip of the coffee. "I couldn't leave you alone. And I had nowhere else to go either."

Part of Peter had hoped that Claire would have taken Sylar under her wing because then they could have shared the vision of their impossible utopia. He found himself glad that hadn't happened, though, because this way Sylar came back here, and perhaps he would see reason in the end; see the world as Peter was experiencing it right now.

"So," Sylar said conversationally, "can I stay here like before, or shall I just continue to sneak in while you're away?"

Peter didn't know what to say. He couldn't stop Sylar from entering his home, and the whole situation was a bit ridiculous. "You'll sleep on the couch," he finally sighed, taking a cup from the shelf and pouring himself some coffee as well.

"Just like old times," Sylar smiled and returned to the living room.

Peter watched him go, a light sensation of disbelief attempting to take over his mind, but he knew Sylar too well to be really surprised by this. He was a creature of habit, and since this had been his home since the carnival, not to mention a safe haven, that was probably why he had come back again.

* * *

Peter knew it would just make him angry, but he had to know what kind of disaster could spin from this. Also, as Sylar would point out to him so kindly, perhaps it was a sort of punishment he thought he deserved. Every time Claire was interviewed, it was like slow torture. Sometimes the end result wasn't all that bad, but sometimes Peter could just see how she was led along to say something that would provoke a very opposite reaction out of the crowd.

Today she had some high-ranking, well-educated man sitting opposite her; his glasses, carefully combed hair and spotless, finely cut clothes made Claire look like some child dressed up and face painted with make-up. Perhaps she didn't see it, but all this was a setup she was never going to win. She didn't even have a fighting chance; a blond doll against an adult off whose tongue wisdom and big words would roll.

But still she sat there, young yet brave, fearless because she knew nothing these people did could hurt her.

If only that was the case with everyone else…

The discussion began, but Peter lost the first few lines because the door opened behind him and Sylar stepped in, looking over at him as he closed the door. "Should I even ask what you're watching?" he asked and walked over, sitting down beside him. He had probably picked up on his mood, or he merely found it so easy to read his expression.

Peter turned back to the screen, and he could see his niece was already on the warpath. _"If only people saw that we are not a threat,"_ she was saying.

"_How can you say that these people are not a threat? Each and every one of them __is a danger we are not aware of. I have spoken to parents who are afraid to let their children into school, especially after some widely broadcasted accidents."_

"_Most of which could have been prevented if people weren't threatening our lives. And many of those accidents had nothing to do with abilities,"_ Claire insisted.

"_A child with an ability__ is a hazardous threat to others around them. Their tempers have highs and lows, their hormonal levels are not stable, and their behavior cannot be predicted. Previously we have been faced by a threat of guns and weapons in schools, but this is a new threat! A gun that cannot be seen, and one with unimaginable power."_

"_There is no way you can compare us __to disturbed people gunning down –"_ Claire began to shout, but the studio audience was already roaring, and Peter put a hand over his eyes. Beside him, Sylar shifted and turned off the TV.

"The papers are going to have a field day with this," Peter muttered.

"If not this, then something else," Sylar said, sitting back.

Peter sighed and got up. He should go and see Claire again, try and talk some sense into her. It would not be the first time, but she had to see what her actions were creating around her. As good as her intentions may have been in the beginning…

"The cat's out of the bag," Sylar noted. "Silencing her now won't make a difference."

"I don't see how it could make things worse either," Peter shot back at him, more irritated by the second. To recognize Sylar's words as truth would mean failure. There had to be something he could do to redeem the situation…

* * *

"She's not going to stop," Noah Bennet told him. Behind his glasses his eyes kept moving past Peter's shoulder, and while Peter was pretty sure Sylar wasn't staring back at Noah, the tension was easy to grasp.

"Have you talked to her?" Peter asked.

"More than once. She's adamant about this. And at this point…"

Peter tried not to grind his teeth together. It seemed everyone had the same idea about the situation, and the lack of possibilities to redeem it. "I'll try," Peter decided.

Noah just nodded. Peter stepped past him into another room in the apartment, and found Claire seated beside a desk, pen on her lips, brow furrowed, eyes glued to a piece of paper before her. On the laptop screen next to her a dozen windows were open, and most of them seemed to contain news reports of her latest activities.

Peter stood there for a while, waiting her to acknowledge his presence, but when she didn't, he cleared his throat. The only thing that happened was that her brow seemed to furrow more.

"We need to talk," Peter finally said.

"If your argument is the same as last time, then don't bother. I have things to do." Claire's voice was clipped and angry. He wondered whether the real emotion was directed at him or the world in general. Of course it didn't help that her life's mission was currently standing between their friendship, which had always meant a lot to them both since they first met.

"You have to stop," Peter implored. "People are dying. Normal people. We are being used as an excuse to commit hate crimes. At least the specials, whenever they are found, can defend themselves."

"There should be no need to defend ourselves!" Claire burst out, turning in her seat to face him, her pen tossed aside. "We have the right –"

"But who gave you the right to out us all?" Peter demanded. "It's a miracle none of us has tried to attack you to silence you. That's what Noah's most worried about."

"I don't want to hide anymore. I shouldn't have to," Claire said.

Peter tried not to let his temper get the better of him. "Claire, have you ever considered that hiding for you is so easy… It does not change how you can live. You have all the opportunities in the world. You _heal_. But there are people out there who could accidentally incinerate the whole city! Specials who have to hide and be on their guard around the clock so that no one gets hurt. And yet you, of all people, have such a problem fitting in."

No, Peter hadn't wanted to see the hurt on her face, but that fact had been bothering him, and many others whom he had met. Claire had every chance to lead a normal life. Why did she refuse to do that, and instead act like she had no such chance unless everyone knew what she was capable of?

"Get out," Claire finally said, angry and disappointed.

"Come on, Peter," Sylar said from the door, making them both jump; neither of them had noticed him come in. Claire seemed even angrier at that, but Peter gave her one more look and left. He nodded at Noah when they stepped out, but didn't turn to watch the door close behind them.

"What now?" Sylar asked.

Peter looked down the street. The way people kept looking around whenever no one else was looking, staring at those who seemed different from the others… "Is this the only thing the human race is capable of?" he wondered out loud. "Discrimination. Intolerance. Fear."

Sylar didn't comment. Perhaps it was better he didn't.

* * *

Being at work was both an escape and torture. Hesam was a good man, and Peter liked him, but the man had also been his partner when Peter was on a mission to save everyone he could, and he had gotten careless then. So naturally, now that the knowledge of specials was out there, his partner kept a particularly sharp eye on him.

Peter sometimes felt the temptation to use his powers, depending on which one he currently had. He tried to keep a low profile, but sometimes he would call Sylar over and use one of his to get them out of a troubling situation. It was hard to do it, though, because people were constantly looking for something that didn't fit their idea of 'normal', and even if he saved a person's life, there was no guarantee whether that person would be willing to overlook he was a special.

Sylar joked that they should wear ski masks and hit the streets, working as superheroes in comics did. With him as Peter's power bank, they could do a lot of good. While Peter found the idea tempting, he didn't want to put people more at risk than they already were; even good intentions were sometimes seen as evil deeds in the wrong light…

There came times, though, when Peter couldn't turn away even at risk of his own exposure. He just kept hoping that when that moment came, it would be worth it.

It was late Thursday afternoon when the call came; a busload of children was stuck when their school bus had slipped off the road after heavy rains had mixed with the oil on the asphalt and made the ground too slippery. To make the situation harder, the bus was in danger of falling several hundred feet down an embankment, and the rain-softened surface made it hard to pull the bus back to the road.

When Peter and Hesam arrived at the scene, several other units were already there, and fire trucks were parked nearby. Lights flashed in the darkening night, and as Peter jumped out of the ambulance, he took a look around. It seemed the bus had already slipped down several feet from where it had originally stopped, and a slow, steady drizzle was still coming from the sky. It was a steep slope, and several firemen were working out the best way to get down to the frightened children.

"Can we get down there?" Peter asked the man in charge.

"Right now we have to find a way to secure the bus."

Peter nodded, walking a bit closer. He flexed his fingers. Currently, he had the superhuman strength at his disposal, but that was no use on the slippery, muddy ground. He would fall as surely as the bus. Reflexively his feet shifted on the asphalt, as if to test it nonetheless.

The firemen carefully worked their way down, a rope tied to one of their trucks. One of them reached the bus, and at once the screams and shouts of the children inside drowned anything the adults might have been saying. Peter itched to do something – just like everyone else here.

Suddenly the bus shifted, sliding down a couple of feet, and Peter almost dashed after it, regardless of the fact that he couldn't do anything. Hesam grabbed his arm, so he must have actually moved. Peter glanced at his partner, who seemed just as anxious to dash over if only there was something they could do.

The firemen kept trying to attach wire ropes on the bus without triggering it to move further. Frantic planning was taking place around a table that had been set up on the other side of the road, bright lights illuminating anxious faces of men and women, dripping wet and looking uncomfortable.

Peter glanced at the bus, then made up his mind. "I'll be right back," he said to Hesam, then hurried away from the ambulance, took his cell phone and dialed the number etched into his mind because he never dared to save it. "Listen," he said before Sylar could even say 'hello'. "I need your help. Have you watched the news?"

"_Yeah. The __bus?"_

"I need you here, on location." He took a look around, making sure he was alone. "I need another power," he said then, in a lower tone.

"_I'll be there right away,"_ Sylar said, then disconnected. Had he been able to teleport like Hiro, that statement might have been accurate, but he had also acquired other powers that would make traveling faster – like flying. Peter never really liked to think of where he had got that one, but then, if that was his only connection to his brother…

He walked a bit further away where the road was dark and looked up to the sky. The seconds seemed endless, and he looked around nervously. Anytime now, someone would start to wonder where he had gone. The drizzle was turning into rain again, and he felt it soaking his clothes.

Peter jumped when Sylar appeared from the darkness. Peter said nothing about that, though; he merely stepped over to him and extended his hand. "Telekinesis," he said.

Sylar's eyes moved onto the scene further down the road. His hand reached out to clasp Peter's, and he could feel it going through him like a wave with a small electric charge. Peter let go, testing the ability on a small rock beside him; it began to hover, then flew out into the darkness. Sylar's eyes moved onto him. "You're getting better at that." It used to take Peter a few attempts in the past to grasp the right power.

Peter merely nodded, heading back. He trusted Sylar to get himself back home.

Hesam was where he had left him. Peter received a look from his partner, but no questions. They kept watching for a moment, but the situation wasn't improving. "They are debating if they should just try to empty the bus," Hesam said. "But as long as they're not sure if they can get everyone out…"

Peter nodded grimly, then set forward, straight towards the bus. He looked at it, as if to measure the size and mass of it in his mind. He could feel Sylar's power touching the bus, almost gently nudging it, taking hold.

"Hey, you have to stand back," one of the firemen said, extending his hand to keep him back. Peter stopped, wordlessly, still staring at the bus. He could feel it moving, slowly, and while his eyes could not see the movement, he felt it slipping down the slope… He spread his legs, then raised his right hand. He knew it wasn't necessary, but when he pried open the door in Primatech, it had definitely been easier to imitate the desired movement with his body.

"I asked you to step back," the fireman said, now bushing his chest a bit, but Peter wasn't focusing on him. Eyes and thoughts nailed on the bus, he slowly curled his fingers, body tense. Metal creaked, and the bus moved several inches at once. The children inside screamed and the firemen jumped back. But as soon as the bus had started moving down, it was jerked back as if by some invisible string. Peter could feel it, every inch thrumming inside his skull. Like he was pulling it with his own muscles…

But he wasn't, and once he realized that, moving the weight was so much easier. He took a slow, deliberate step back, and the bus slowly inched up the slope as if following him. Another step, another foot, the children quieting down, holding their breaths. A few of the firemen kept tugging at the ropes, but they were now hanging loose between the bus and the fire trucks they had been attached to.

Everyone had quieted down, and Peter kept backing up the bus following him, further and further until it finally shifted and moved back onto the road where it rested heavily.

Peter exhaled, sagging a little. His lungs hurt, feet and shoulders aching. His head was just about to explode, and he could feel something warmer than water or sweat running down his face. When he looked around, everyone had backed away from him, staring at him and not even approaching the bus for several long seconds. Peter wiped his face on his sleeve and broke out of the trance; he headed back to their ambulance for a kit then moved to the bus. The front door was stuck, but a yank of his tired hands and a telekinetic push made it fall out to the mud beside him. "Everyone okay?" Peter asked.

The teachers and the bus driver stared at him. A few of them actually backed away from the door, trying to pull the kids with them. One little girl rushed out, though, and right into his arms. "You're my hero," she whispered in his ear, and for a moment, Peter remembered Claire saying those exact same words to him…

Lights flashed, and Peter looked to the side; news vehicles had parked on the far edge of the area they had isolated, and cameras were flashing now, taking pictures. Peter swallowed, but didn't have time to think; about a half-dozen other kids were all trying to touch him at once, as if he was all they had been waiting for this entire time.

* * *

The days after the bus accident were crazy. Peter was politely yet firmly told to take a few days off. The ride back to the station with Hesam had been… tense. There was no talking, which Peter didn't mind, but he would have rather talked to him than have Hesam turn the latest events around in his head and perhaps come to the wrong conclusion. If there even was a 'wrong' conclusion, of course…

Sylar didn't ask him how it had ended. Peter guessed he had stayed to watch from a distance, and chances were he had also helped Peter. They sat in Peter's apartment together, talking less than usual. Peter admitted he was moody, but he felt like he should be out there, working, saving lives. Sylar probably knew how he was feeling, so he didn't try to offer any weak consolations, or reassure him it was all going to be okay in the end.

Chances were Peter's public stunt had cost him his job. Peter wasn't going to beat around the bush on that one. He wasn't sure how the justice system worked – it had been under public debate as long as Claire had been doing her campaign for their rights – but he knew that one way or another, working as an EMT wasn't going to be as easy as it had been. Even if he was permitted to continue, it didn't mean his co-workers' attitudes wouldn't become an issue. That was what he was truly afraid of, and Hesam's silence hadn't been encouraging.

When Monday arrived, Peter decided he was done waiting. He had a shift, and so he went. It wasn't about making a stand, but about doing what was right. He was nervous, but he wasn't afraid. He had been through so much worse than this…

Hesam was changing when Peter joined him in the locker room. The other man looked at him, almost shocked, and Peter tried to keep his own reactions to a minimum. "Hi," he simply said and opened his locker. Part of him had been expecting they would have changed the locks or something, telling him he wasn't welcome anymore. Of course Peter could have always smashed his hand through the door, but… His key fit, and no such displays of betrayal and anger were needed.

"I wasn't expecting to see you," Hesam finally said.

"Can't just sit at home doing nothing forever," Peter said honestly, pulling off his shirt and replacing it with another, then looked at his partner. Hesam was suddenly very still and quiet, and Peter sighed, sitting down on the bench. "Look," he said, "I just want to go out there and help people. That's it. You know that."

Hesam was still quiet, as if expecting him to perform some kind of trick that defied his knowledge of reality. Then, eventually, he continued to button up his shirt. "This explains a lot of stuff the other year," he finally murmured, then looked up. Peter could see indecision on his face, like he was tempted to say or do something but wasn't entirely sure whether it was actually a good idea.

"Back then I was a bit lost," Peter said. "My power had… changed. I felt like I had lost a part of myself. That I wasn't as strong anymore, and so I drove myself to save as many people as possible. I couldn't bear the thought of failing, of being weak. I guess I've calmed down a little since then, and even with the world in its current state, I still want to help, Hesam. You've got to believe me. If I was a murdering psychopath, I think you would have noticed by now."

His partner seemed to think about that, hard. Peter knew it wasn't easy to take all this information and simply accept it. For him, it had been different. He had been special, and overjoyed because of that. But all his abilities hadn't stopped him from losing them, and even now with Sylar's collection at his disposal, he often felt a fleeting moment of anger at how weak he was. How limited.

Eventually Hesam finished putting on his uniform, and Peter followed. They took their gear and went out, and whenever they passed someone, Peter was aware of how everyone stopped doing what they were in the middle of, waiting for him to pass. He bit his teeth firmly together and kept walking.

Hesam was tense beside him all the way to the ambulance. He didn't tell him not to come, or that someone had been scheduled to join him instead. "Before we go…." Hesam finally broke the silence as they got into the ambulance. "What do you do, exactly?" he asked. The way he looked at Peter was full of curiosity, and a little bit of dread, but perhaps he knew, inside, that Peter wasn't like the threat they painted in propaganda against the specials.

Peter sighed as the other man started the ambulance. "That's a long story, actually, but…" he glanced at him, then smiled a bit. "It's quite a story."

* * *

Monday went by just like any other day – only Peter was telling Hesam about his past, his powers and some of his friends. Hesam listened, posed some questions, and at times he wanted to know more than Peter was comfortable telling him. The man didn't push, so maybe hearing what Peter was willing to tell him was enough.

It wasn't as if Hesam needed to know actual names, or learn about the hand Peter's family had had in all this. Not everything was relevant for him to understand the past and Peter's ability, or its current state.

"So, this guy who can move in time," Hesam said one night when they had stopped to eat, sitting in the ambulance with some take-out, "does he ever feel tempted to go back and do something… major, you know?"

"Hiro is a… hero," Peter mused, looking out into the night. "He has a very strict sense of right and wrong. Rigid, you might say. He idolizes superheroes in comics, and he would never do anything for personal gain. I guess he's the best person to have that power, because he isn't going to be motivated by greed like others might be."

"Sounds like a strange guy," Hesam commented.

"Naïve and idealistic. Perhaps a little childish. But he's been through much, and come through it all stronger and tougher," Peter said. "He's something to get used to, but you can count on him to do the right thing even when you're not…"

"As long as anyone doesn't manipulate him," Hesam added.

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "Happens to the best of us."

Hesam looked at him, probably guessing Peter meant himself.

"_All available units…"_ their radio went off. Both of them turned to listen, then Hesam started the ambulance. Peter threw the cartons into a trash can on the sidewalk, got in, and they pulled out to the street. Peter responded to the dispatcher, saying they were five minutes away. They drove approximately ten blocks to get to the site of a car crash. A sedan was partially pinned under a truck, and as soon as they got out, it was clear the people in the sedan were stuck and hurt. Hesam went to help the truck driver out of the cab, checking his head wound, then returned to Peter who was trying to calm down the people in the other car. Two of them were unconscious, and a woman was crying hysterically. All were young people, probably two couples. The man on the driver's seat was looking a bit out of it.

"We need to move the truck," Peter said. "We can only get the driver out, the rest need to be cut out."

"How do you propose we do that?" Hesam asked. "The fire department is coming, we have to wait until then."

"The lady in the back is bleeding pretty badly," Peter said, trying to see better. He could smell gasoline, but he didn't think it likely that the truck would start burning.

The woman in front was still crying, no matter how much Hesam tried to make her calm down. She was hurt and in pain, not to mention terrified. Peter didn't want to prolong the situation any longer. Cop cars and another ambulance had arrived, securing the area, pushing the people back who had gathered around to see what was going on.

Peter got up, looked at the truck, then went around the crushed sedan. He set his hands against the bottom of the truck, then pushed. It didn't feel like a couple of tons. He had switched back to super-strength the other day when he and Sylar carried down an old couch for one of his older neighbors; it was so much less likely he was going to pull something if he didn't have to struggle with the weight. Now, pushing the truck and lifting it, he could hear the metal creak, just a little, where if parted from that of the sedan, and then finally all of its weight rested on his hands and the road and he gave it one more shove and made it drop down beside the car it had previously rested on.

He could feel sweat on his skin, but that didn't matter. He walked back to help Hesam, who looked at him, then shook his head and went back to work. "I honestly forgot about that," he murmured. The firemen were approaching now, giving Peter apprehensive looks, but he didn't care. He had a job to do, and he had just made theirs a lot easier.

When they started carrying the patients to the ambulances to take them to the hospital, Peter could feel people's stares on his back. He kept moving. There was nothing he could do about it now. He had helped these people, perhaps saved them from worse injury, and the knowledge alone would have to be enough. If they had a better chance at life because of him, then it was worth it.

The woman who had been crying in the car had been relatively calmed after they got her out. The way she kept looking at Peter was somewhere between pure panic and indecisiveness. Like she couldn't figure out whether he was a friend or foe although he had obviously saved her.

The human mind worked in odd ways indeed…

The drive to the hospital was a quiet one. Peter had volunteered to drive this time, to keep his mind busy from all the thoughts gnawing at him inside his head. He had just done exactly what Claire had, so where did that put him?

* * *

"Peter?"

It was the second time Sylar called from behind the door, this time with a knock following his name.

Peter didn't bother getting up or answering. He wasn't asleep, obviously, but he didn't want to talk to him either. Thoughts of the accident still whirled in his head. Why had he taken such a risk? He had seen himself in the news a few hours afterward, throwing aside the truck, and it definitely looked a lot more impressive than it had felt at the moment.

Some called him '_Savior_' and '_Supernatural rescuer_'.

Others painted him with words like '_Monster in uniform_'.

That forced him to consider that those people might have been saved by the firemen. It hadn't been that bad of a situation. Now he had pulled such a stunt in public that it could not be dismissed, whereas his use of powers with the school bus had been a bit more… circumspect. At least in that occasion he hadn't been in the evening news.

Sylar tried to open his door, but Peter had both locked it and pushed a chair against it. He considered that a solid hint that he wanted to be alone.

"Peter, I'm coming in," Sylar told him with a sigh, and then he could hear the lock turn and the chair scrape across the floor, thumping against the far wall.

Peter sat up angrily, glaring at Sylar when the man opened the door with his mind. Sylar merely raised an eyebrow then stepped inside. "What do you want?" Peter demanded.

"You're upset," Sylar observed needlessly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

That threw Peter a little. "No, I don't," he finally replied. "And I don't need your sympathy either."

"Well, good, because I wasn't going to give you any," Sylar shrugged, then quite calmly sat on the edge of his bed. "You did a good deed. You were a hero. If they somehow manage to make it seem otherwise, people won't be idiotic or blind enough to see it."

"Doesn't mean they'll still make me into a hero," Peter said, lying down on his back. It seemed he wasn't going to get out of this without talking to Sylar. Sure, he could try to throw him out, but he didn't feel like trashing his apartment. Besides, his neighbors had already begun to avoid him in the corridor. Hero or not, they were afraid of him.

"Maybe this is a good thing," Sylar was still trying to cheer him up. "It gives them concrete evidence of the fact that some of us can and will be helpful to keep around."

Peter wished that was true. He was so tired of this whole mess, so any change to a more positive direction was welcome. Perhaps if he managed to get through to people, some of the unnecessary hatred and mistrust would disappear. He didn't expect the violence to end, because that seemed to be etched into the very essence of humanity; he had experienced it himself a few times.

He was so deep in thought he didn't even react at first when Sylar lay down next to him. At some point he simply grew aware of the fact that the man was there… He looked at him, and Sylar turned his head to return the stare. They didn't speak, and when it was eventually time to go to bed, Sylar got up and left. It was the first time in a long while when Peter felt somewhat lonely.

* * *

"Peter Petrelli?"

They had been ready to head out and were checking their ambulance when a group of men walked down to the garage.

Hesam looked up, and Peter got out from the back of the ambulance, frowning a bit. "Yeah?"

Once he laid his eyes on the men, he could see the army clothing – and the guns. The weapons weren't pointed at him, but the men seemed to hold their hands close to them nonetheless.

"We're on orders to bring you in for questioning," one of the men said, his stance tense.

"What for?" Hesam asked.

The man glanced at him, then seemed to decide he was of no importance. He returned his eyes to Peter, who suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. It hadn't been 24 hours since the accident with the truck.

"We would prefer you to come peacefully," the man said. One of his companions took their gun out of its holster.

"Wait a minute," Hesam said. "What kind of authority do you have –?"

Peter shifted, and the man with the gun raised the weapon, making Hesam stop in the middle of the sentence. "It's okay," Peter said. His partner looked like it wasn't, but perhaps he knew it would be foolish for him to jump in the middle of this. A man from Iran, who would miss him if he got shot for defending a special?

The soldiers began to approach him, and one of them revealed something that looked like a taser. Peter had had his share of those in the past, and seeing one made his mind go to a bad place; he would not be made into a lab rat, cut into pieces.

One of the men came at him suddenly, and almost instinctively Peter reached out and pushed him away. The man flew several feet in the air before landing. That seemed to be a signal for the others; a few of them tried to grab him and take him down, but Peter was stronger than all of them combined. He didn't want to hurt them, because that would give the army only more motivation to come after him, but he made sure they would not get to him…

A bang echoed in the underground garage and Peter felt a bullet tear through his thigh. His balance shook enough for one of the men to stick a needle into him, and Peter's world started to blur, his body getting heavier…

"Peter!"

He heard Hesam, far away, but his sound faded away…

* * *

"_Maybe this will help Peter to see that coming out to the world is the only way we can truly live in it!"_ Claire said, sounding excited. She had been trying to reach his uncle, but decided that perhaps talking to Sylar for a bit wasn't so bad. Personally, Sylar didn't care; he didn't have much to do since he didn't want to go out in bright daylight if he had the choice, and he had yet to find something to do with himself.

"I don't think he'll go as far as that anytime soon," Sylar said, arranging the cups on the shelf with his mind as he spoke.

"_Peter isn't a fool. He's bound to notice…"_

Sylar just made a sound that might be taken as an agreement, although he wasn't that sure; Peter was stubborn, but then, he also had to literally clean up the mess that Claire was unintentionally creating. In such a position it was hard to see how positive the change was.

"_Tell Peter to call me, okay?"_ Claire finally said. _"There are a few stations that would be interested in interviewing him."_

Sylar smiled, holding back a chuckle. Appearing in the evening news had been enough to make Peter sulk in his room for hours. To appear on national television would be so bad that he would probably ask Parkman to seal him into the wall of their basement…

"I will," he promised absently, arranging the papers and random objects on the table next.

She ended the call without bigger compliments than 'thanks', and Sylar wondered how long it would take for her to get used to the idea that he was one of the good guys. Well, on the best of days it didn't seem Peter quite believed it either, but at least he didn't act on that particular doubt. He seemed determined to trust Sylar until he proved him wrong.

He looked around the apartment. He had already arranged the few items in the bookshelf – Peter really didn't read much, and most of those were some boring medical books; heavy, with grim pictures and small text laced with Latin words.

Sylar wondered whether he could maybe start studying some foreign language at his leisure, or maybe a few; with a power that helped him to remember everything, it shouldn't be that hard.

Then again, what would he do with being multilingual if he couldn't leave the apartment without getting the cops on his tail?

While he was thinking about that, there was suddenly a knock from the door. It sounded like someone was in a hurry to get in. Perhaps Peter had forgotten his keys, but then, he probably would have been shouting too – unless he was still keeping it a secret Sylar lived with him. At least he didn't ask Sylar to enter through the window…

It wasn't Peter when he went to open the door. Sure, the man had an EMT's uniform beneath his jacket, and Sylar was quite sure he had seen him somewhere….

The man looked at him, a spooked expression on his face. "Uh… I don't know if you're… Are you a friend of Peter's?" he asked quickly.

"Yes," Sylar said. No reason to dwell on their murky past…

"Can I come in?" the man asked.

"Peter's not in."

"I know," the man said. "That's why I'm here; I'm his partner, Hesam."

_No wonder he looked so familiar,_ Sylar decided. "Come on in," he said, opening a door a bit further to let the man through.

Hesam cast a nervous look around the apartment, then looked at Sylar again, as if trying to see something in him that he wasn't currently able. "Are you…"

Sylar raised his eyebrow. Was he… what? Then he thought about the way the other man was looking at him, the way he had specifically asked if he was Peter's _friend_, and he guessed Peter had finally told someone the truth. "Yes," Sylar said.

Hesam nodded vigorously, yet a frown appeared on his face. "You're like Peter?" he finally asked, as if to clarify they were talking about the same thing, which was probably smart.

"Yes, I'm one of the people who are called 'special'."

Finally the other man seemed to relax a little, but not much. "They took him," he finally blurted out, giving the apartment a suspicious look; as if he was afraid someone else might be listening.

"Who took whom?" Sylar asked. Sure, he was getting a bad feeling about all this – people didn't just come over to Peter's place, especially his colleagues.

"Peter. They took Peter." Hesam was acting even more nervous now, and Sylar resisted the temptation to shake him a little.

"Who took him?" Sylar asked, taking a step closer. If someone had taken Peter, he didn't have time to play games.

Hesam took a frightened step back, almost falling over a chair. "The army. They just showed up when we were about to leave for our shift and took him. He tried to resist, but I think he didn't want to hurt them." He looked at his feet once he finished, then up again, as if he didn't dare to take his eyes off Sylar for too long.

"Did they say where they were taking him, or why?" Sylar asked him, trying not to appear too threatening.

"No," Hesam said, looking at him as if it wasn't such a bright question. "Well, they said they were ordered to bring him in for questioning, but I don't think that was the only thing they had in mind, looking at the firepower they had with them – and they even shot him! I didn't stick around to ask; frankly, I think I'm lucky they let me go. They could have easily blamed me for assisting a terrorist or…"

Sylar decided the man had issues with the whole terrorist thing, but then, he looked like he was originally from the Middle East, which probably kept him on his toes around here. "I don't think we're regarded as terrorists quite yet," Sylar informed him, trying to think hard about how to find out where they had taken Peter. Knowing the other man, he would be doing very little to gain his freedom, so it was up to Sylar to see that he did.

"What they say in public is different than what's discussed behind closed doors," Hesam said, giving the windows and the door another look.

"I guess you should go," Sylar offered. "They might think you're an accomplice if they found out you were here."

"Yes, I think you're right," Hesam nodded. He stepped towards the door, then stopped and turned back to look at Sylar. "Do you think it's safe? What if I was followed?"

"I think they would have already come in if that was the case," Sylar said, but took a moment to scan their surroundings. He couldn't hear anything suspicious, and returned his attention on the other man, resisting the urge to rub his ears. "Go. Thank you for…"

"No problem," Hesam said, quickly opening the door. "Peter's a good guy," said before stepping out. "I think of all the people out there, he actually does something good with his power."

Sylar didn't bother telling him of all the times when Peter's powers had almost gotten everyone killed – whether it was New York City or the whole world.

Once the door closed behind Hesam's back, Sylar closed his eyes. "Think," he told himself. "Where shall I start?" Local army bases? And what if he wasn't there? Also, he first needed to find out about facilities the army had nearby, and whether they would be suitable for holding a prisoner like one of the specials. But however he decided to go about it, he didn't have resources for that as it was.

He needed help.

* * *

When Peter woke up, he felt like someone had shot him in the leg then stepped on it, and his head was causing violent waves of nausea to pass through him. He was tightly tied to an examination table, and as he carefully moved his head, he could tell it was some kind of medical facility they were holding him in. No one was in the room, though, and the lights were on low.

For a while he tested his restraints, but his muscles felt like they were on fire. He closed his eyes, trying to push through it; if only he managed to get free… He heard the metal bend, just a little, and forced himself to pull harder.

A door opened somewhere, and the dimness he had gotten used to exploded with bright lights from above. Even with his eyes closed it hurt, and he stopped struggling for a moment. He felt a pain in his arm, and opened his eyes despite knowing he would be seeing nothing but spots of light for a long while.

His movements began to slow down, and he saw a shape of a man against the lights. It was blurring, though…

"He's going under," a male voice said.

"Shall we send a surgical team in?"

Part of Peter's brain felt relief; they were going to tend to the wound on his leg.

"Yes, but wait until we have him under control. We're still waiting for a confirmation about his ability," the first voice said.

"Those restraints should have been strong enough to hold a wild animal…"

"Well, this is an animal of a whole another level."

Peter decided perhaps they weren't going to operate on his leg after all, but his mind was already slipping in and out of consciousness by the time he realized that.

* * *

The next couple of times Peter became conscious of his surroundings, he always ended up hoping he hadn't; the first time he realized they had literally cut him up then put him back together again. He wondered whether they had found what they were looking for. Probably not, because waking up looking like the Frankenstein's monster was a sign for them to begin other kinds of experimentation on his body.

There were times when Peter hoped they would accidentally kill him while running electricity through his body to see how he responded to it. Even more often he hoped he would have possessed Claire's ability the day they caught him, because this would have been so much more endurable…

But if he had had the power to heal, he didn't particularly enjoy the idea of all the things they would have done to him then. After all, with Claire death was simply a momentary inconvenience.

If they weren't torturing him to see how far he could be pushed, they put him into a room to be interrogated. Peter rarely had anything to say to them, nor was he really in a condition to form comprehensive thoughts. Once he attacked the woman interrogating him because the pain was simply too much, burning inside his stomach constantly. Maybe he had an infection there, because he had torn some of the stitches several times while writhing in agony.

After the poor decision to attack one of their staff, they put him into a small room where he could barely stand straight or turn around. Stone walls and a thick iron door made it fruitless to try and escape, no matter how inhumanly strong he was. They left him there for so long that he no longer had any fight left in him when they finally opened the door.

The questions they asked him – How he got his powers? Was it true he could copy another special's ability? Were all in his family like this? – gave him the impression that they had the possession of some of the files Nathan had once gathered. They knew way too much. It simply made Peter wonder why they bothered with all this. What more was there to understand?

* * *

Three days had passed, and Sylar was beginning to think he had the wrong approach to all this; he had contacted several of Peter's friends, asking for their aid in finding him, but it seemed most of them were way too afraid or comfortable with their lives to risk it for a man who had often put his life on the line for them.

Matt Parkman had a family to think of, and it didn't help that it was Sylar requesting his help in the first place. Mohinder Suresh was somewhere in India, enjoying a quiet life, and he said he was not going to ruin that for anything, especially when the world was in its current situation. Sylar had also contacted the remaining people of the carnival, but it seemed they had a full time job concealing themselves these days.

He could have asked Claire for help, and she would have probably come, but he didn't want to involve her if he didn't absolutely have to; she had started this mess to begin with.

Sylar considered asking Peter's friend Emma for help, but she didn't really have sufficient power to aid him. And the biggest problem still loomed ahead of him; how would he find Peter? He could be anywhere by now. He could also be dead.

Looking at Peter's email – he had often spied over the man's shoulder to see his password, so he hadn't had difficulties logging in and finding all the contacts he needed – he was getting a little desperate. In the past, he would have probably just cut his way through the ranks. He wasn't sure if that was the kind of direction he should take with this.

Suppose that Peter _was_ dead; if Sylar laid low while looking for him, they might not figure out his location. But if Peter was still alive, being overly cautious might cost him too much time…

Sylar didn't like this feeling of helplessness. There had to be a way to find out where they were holding Peter. It couldn't be anything too obvious or in the open because he would have broken free otherwise. Unless, of course, he was being Peter and wasn't even attempting to save himself.

Staring at the computer screen in the dark room, he tried to will some sort of answer to appear. He had been locked inside the apartment since Hesam came by, listening to each sound coming from the outside, expecting someone to break in to go through the apartment. Until now, no such thing had happened. He had lowered the blinds and drawn the curtains, and if someone happened to come in, his level of frustration was so high by now that he would probably kill them before he could even ask what the hell they were doing there.

Suddenly the screen flickered, and as his eyes were drawn to it, he saw a new message had appeared in Peter's mailbox. Before he could move the mouse over it to click, though, it opened itself on the screen.

"_I know you're looking for Peter, and have been asking for help. I want to help you."_ That was what the message said.

"What the hell…" Sylar muttered. He hit 'reply' and typed: "_Who the hell are you?_"

Only few minutes passed before a reply arrived, and once again it opened itself on the screen:

"_I helped you before. You know who I am."_

Sylar frowned, his brain working furiously. Who… Then it dawned to him. "Micah."

A moment passed. He didn't write a reply, but a few second later a new message arrived:

"_Yes. I know where Peter is."_

Sylar guessed that for a boy who could communicate with computers and such, listening to what he was saying with this laptop couldn't be very hard. He wondered why it had taken such a long time for Micah to contact him. Had he been busy? It didn't matter. "Tell me," Sylar simply said, and in a few second another message arrived, with location and details.

"_I can come and help you,"_ the next message said.

"No, I need you to stay hidden," Sylar told him. "In case they find out or move him, I need you to stay up to date…"

"_Okay."_

Sylar wondered if it was kind of sad that the only person who had offered his help in finding Peter was a kid. Sure, a whole lot of people hadn't responded to his messages… He decided it didn't matter. He knew where Peter was. Now he would send out messages about where to meet him if they wanted to help him, and if no one showed up, Sylar would take care of this himself.

Because that's what heroes did, especially for each other.

* * *

Alaska was cold, Sylar decided. Getting there hadn't been easy either; he couldn't just board a plane, so he had to use just about any other means known to man. He made it, though, and was there on time. It was a few hours to the time he had sent to every reliable special on Peter's mailing list. He didn't expect any of them to show up, though.

As he peered through the darkness towards a secret military base, he wondered what would be the best way to approach. Stealth or total mayhem? He knew Peter was alive – Micah's intel was good – so the only problem was getting to him before someone decided killing him would be better than allowing him to escape.

While he thought about that, he kept glancing at his watch. Despite the belief that no one would show up…

Close to midnight he knew it was time to move. Shifts would be changing, men wouldn't be at their posts, and although he wasn't too worried about opposition, it would be easier to move in there when things weren't completely in order. Pocketing his phone and making sure he would at least feel it if he got a message – Micah had promised to keep him up to date if they moved Peter – he straightened his jacket and took a step forward.

He felt the air stir behind him and turned sharply, one hand clenched, power at the ready.

"Is this the rescue party?" Edgar asked, straightening his jacket. He looked a bit windswept, but just as alert as always. So the carnies had gotten his message after all…

Sylar wasn't sure if he had run all the way from wherever they were currently hiding, but he sure as hell wasn't going to waste his time asking. "Seems like it," he replied. "It's nice of you to show up."

Edgar just shrugged. He and Peter had spent more time combating each other than actually cooperating, but after the dust settled, it seemed Edgar knew who his friends were – especially since he was standing here with Sylar for company. "Let's get going, then," Edgar said, his fingers playing with one of his favorite knives. He seemed eager to be gone, but it wasn't as if Sylar had any great desire to linger either; it was getting colder out here if possible.

They set out together, Edgar a step behind him, and Sylar wondered whether they should discuss some kind of plan. He had been so certain he would be doing this alone that he hadn't even bothered to consider what he should do differently if someone else showed up.

He was distracted, though, by a small sound from the spot they had just left, and a rather loud shout from the darkness: "_Sumimasen!_ Wait, Mr. Sylar!"

Both Sylar and Edgar turned, cringing at the loudness of the cry. Two men were racing after them. Sylar thought he recognized them.

The shorter, round-faced man bowed deep. "I am sorry we are late," he said, an accent in his voice. "But we are here now, to help rescue Peter Petrelli."

Edgar was still frowning.

Sylar merely nodded slowly. Peter's friends… "You're Hiro?" He recalled that the man used to call him 'Brain Man'.

"Yes," Hiro beamed at them through the dark and cold. "Hiro Nakamura! And this is my partner, Ando Masahashi."

The other man waved at them a bit uncertainly. He seemed to be more aware of the change in temperature than Hiro; they definitely weren't dressed to be outdoors in Alaska.

"Shall we go?" Ando asked after a few seconds. "I thought we were in a hurry?"

"Yes, let's go," Edgar agreed, seeming to decide that it was a better option than staying out here. Perhaps he had met Hiro as well, who knew. He didn't seem to question their presence here.

"We tried to be on time," Hiro went on, jogging to keep up with the two men. "It is very hard, though, to calculate the exact time all the way from Japan."

Ando was trailing him, casting looks around as if waiting for an attack. He wasn't entirely wrong to expect one, of course, considering they were accessing an area that was forbidden for people who weren't military.

"Is there a plan?" Edgar finally asked. "Or are we just going to walk to the front gate and knock?"

"I have a man inside, so to speak," Sylar said. "He'll make sure the cameras won't see us. The rest we can take care of by ourselves."

Edgar didn't seem to have a problem with that; he merely played with his knife, his strides longer. He looked almost eager. Sylar wondered if he was taking this as a chance for some personal vengeance as well as saving one of them. After all, these past months couldn't have been easy on the carnies. Sylar didn't bother to make too many rules, though; if Edgar caused trouble, Sylar would simply have more time to focus on rescuing Peter.

They crept through the darkness to an iron fence. Sylar tested it, and if it had previously been electrified, it was not anymore. Edgar took that as a sign to proceed, and with a movement faster than the eye could see, he slashed and cut a hole in the fence. Sylar spread it telekinetically to make it easier to enter, and so they went through. Since this was a secret military base, there were no spotlights washing over the area or visible guard towers. Most of the levels were underground, and if Micah's information was correct, that was where Peter was currently held.

The wind whipped around them as they went closer, and Sylar guided them around a corner to a smaller door. He tested the handle, but found the door locked.

"What did you expect?" Edgar asked, almost curious beneath the tone of sarcasm.

Sylar didn't bother to answer. A door was no object…

Suddenly he heard an electric lock, and as he tried the handle again, the door opened at once. His eyes shot up, and he saw a few cameras strategically placed on the walls; no one could approach the door or enter without being seen. Well, not if the cameras worked. Sylar smiled. It would work to their advantage if these people relied on their technological toys…

They stepped inside, although when he gave their Japanese companions a look, both of them looked a bit leery about such an easy entrance. There was no time to explain, nor would Sylar bother to do so, which meant they had to go on faith if they wanted to follow. That shouldn't be a problem for Hiro, though.

The corridor was dimly lit and looked abandoned, only it was too clean to be so. Every once in a while they saw cameras, especially at every turn they took, but doors still kept opening for them – with less delay than the first one – and Sylar knew they must be on the right path. Micah was making this mission very easy.

They took the staircase down, and when they came to a door, Sylar felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out, finding a message waiting for him:

"_Guards from this point on, armed. You're on your own. Take the first right, then the left at the end of the corridor. Fourth door on the right. Good luck."_

Sylar read it over a few times so that he wouldn't turn the wrong way.

"Is this really the time?" Edgar asked impatiently, his voice hushed.

"This is important," Sylar said, pocketing his phone. "Armed guards from this point on, so if you're not prepared for that, I suggest you stay here." He looked at Hiro and Ando, but neither of them even twitched.

"It was too easy this far anyway," Edgar muttered, peering through the frosted glass.

"We take the first right, then go left at the end of the corridor," Sylar told them. "Don't get lost."

He pushed the door open, stepped out, and was at once spotted by two armed guards in uniform. They blinked, seemed to decide he wasn't supposed to be here, and raised their guns. They didn't get further than that before the blur that was Edgar went past him. The men were thrown back, fell down, and didn't get up. Edgar came back in sight, and small drops of blood slid down the blades of his knives.

Hiro looked a bit squeamish at that. "Do we have to kill them?" he asked, "Wouldn't it be better –"

The commotion of the attack must have carried over to the next corridor because more armed soldiers ran over, stopped at the sight of them, and opened fire without waiting for an explanation. Sylar raised his hand, guiding the bullets away, and Edgar took cover, as did Ando and Hiro.

Sylar could hear more of them coming and decided he was done playing. One concentrated effort, and he pushed them all back, most of them knocked out with the force of the attack. A siren began to wail in the background. Edgar swore, stood up, ready to attack. But killing all these men wasn't that appealing to Sylar anymore. He just wanted to find Peter and get him out of here…

Hiro offered him a solution: "I have a plan," he shouted, reaching towards him and Edgar. "Grab me."

Sylar moved over, seizing one of Hiro's arms. Ando already had a hold of his friend. Edgar looked a bit indecisive, but eventually he moved towards them as well and grabbed Hiro's left arm.

Hiro nodded, then closed his eyes, looking like he was focusing hard, and suddenly the gunfire stopped. Sylar looked around, then realized what must have happened.

"Neat," Edgar said, stepping back and observing the frozen scene. Bullets hung still in the air, and everything but them had stopped moving.

"Let's go," Sylar said, and led the group to the right corridor, then to the end of it before taking the left one as Micah had instructed him. He counted the doors, then stopped in front of one that looked like it was solid steel. He looked at it, then tried to grasp it with his mind. He found it increasingly hard to do it while the time was stopped; it was as if the door had become part of the wall, immovable. "Hiro, you can stop now."

"Are you sure?" Hiro asked. "The gunmen…"

"They will have to figure out where we went, and I don't need more than a second." He didn't want to move Peter while the time was frozen either.

Hiro did as he requested, a frown on his face, and as soon as the bullets hit the wall back in the first hallway, the door before them was also ripped from its hinges and flew back. The others ducked out of the way while Sylar merely bowed a bit to let the door pass him, his eyes intently peering inside the small room that could have perhaps fit a child, but not a grown man. Peter lay there, huddled in the far corner, his breathing hard and strained. He was wearing a thin pair of white pants which were smeared and dirty. There wasn't a spot on his skin that wasn't either dirty, angry red, burned, or covered in bruises, welts and wounds. It even looked like someone had cut open his chest and then stitched it back together…

"Peter," Sylar called carefully, crouching lower. He didn't want to hurry the other man, but the soldiers would come searching for them soon; the guns had stopped for now, and feet were moving on the concrete, some of them towards their location.

Peter's head turned. He squinted a little, as if the pale light was hurting his eyes. "Sylar?"

"Come on," Sylar encouraged him, offering him his hand.

Peter moved very slowly. Either he was afraid, or then his body was simply broken.

"Peter Petrelli, we've come to save you!" Hiro announced as soon as Peter had crawled out.

"We'll need rescuing soon if we don't find some kind of shelter," Edgar said. He was looking towards the hallway they had come from, knives raised.

"Yes," Sylar said, then looked at Peter, his tone softening as he spoke to him: "Here, take this one…" He held Peter's hand a bit tighter, offering him a power. Peter seemed to clutch onto it like a leech, his hold on his hand tightening painfully, yet before his very eyes he could see the marks on Peter's body starting to vanish. Claire was definitely with them in spirit if not in person…

Peter opened his eyes when his breathing was no longer rattling in his lungs, and the last bruises had faded from his skin. It took longer than usual, and he still looked tired, yet determined. He stood up, nodding at Hiro, then glanced at Edgar. "We've met," he stated.

"We have," Edgar agreed.

Peter offered his hand, and after looking at it, Edgar shook it. He probably meant to do it real quick, but Peter held his hand in his a bit longer before releasing it. Sylar could tell why; he had just taken his ability. "Thanks," Peter said, which made Edgar frown a little, but he returned to watching the hallway soon after that.

"They're coming," he noted.

"Let them," Peter growled, taking a step forward. "We'll tear this place down…"

Sylar looked at him. Yes, he understood the rage. Seeing Peter like that, he didn't want to imagine what they had done to him during his imprisonment. But this was not the way heroes did things. "Maybe we should just go," he suggested. "We've done what we came here to do."

All of them turned to look at him. Sylar simply looked at Peter, knowing the decision rested on him. A war seemed to be going on inside him, tearing him in opposite directions.

"Killing them won't change anything – for the better," Sylar went on. "Are there other specials here we should rescue?"

"Not that I know of," Peter said hesitantly. His fingers twitched restlessly, as if itching to fight. "But they won't stop."

"They won't stop even if we level this place," Sylar argued. "They'll just have an excuse to hunt us down. There has to be some other way."

Peter stared at him, then sighed. "Fine," he said. "We leave right now."

"How?" Edgar demanded. "Well, I can always cut our way through the ranks." He seemed only too happy to do so.

"Shall I be of assistance?" Hiro suggested.

Edgar gave him a glare; sure, he knew what Hiro could do, but it didn't mean he liked the idea of their fight being stopped short.

The first group of soldiers came around the corner just then, and Hiro spread his hands. "Quick!" he shouted, and as soon as everyone was touching him, the corridor vanished. They reappeared in an alley in New York, which was noisier and warmer than Alaska had been.

"Well, this was fun," Edgar noted. "If there's nothing else…"

"No, thank you for coming," Sylar said.

"Take care," Edgar told Peter, then stepped out to the street and vanished from sight.

"He didn't stick around for long," Ando noted.

"Who would want to?" Peter mused. "World's going to hell, and this was just an example of that."

"We should head home," Sylar said.

"They'll come looking for me," Peter sighed. He leaned against the dirty wall of a building and looked into the darkness.

"That's why we need to go there now," Sylar insisted, "before they come. Get our things and leave."

"And go where?" Peter asked, sounding angry and defeated. "All I ever wanted to do was help people."

Hiro made a sound of sympathy, looking a bit troubled by this all. "It is a different world."

"It is," Sylar agreed.

"Something has to change," Peter muttered, then looked up at the rest of them. "We have to change it."

"Change what?" Ando asked.

"The world," Peter stated, looking like he had just realized something important. He looked at Hiro. "You can change everything."

Hiro blinked, then looked horrified. "Change the past? No! Stepping on more butterflies… I cannot do it."

"Is any other world worse than this?" Peter demanded. "It's going to get worse, Hiro, but you can change it! You're the one with the ability to go back."

Hiro looked troubled by this. Sylar knew he and Peter had rarely disagreed, and perhaps it was hard for him to deny Peter's request, even if it went against some personal code. And anyone could see that the world was going to hell…

Finally Hiro nodded. "It is true. But how are we going to do this? How are we going to change it so that none of this happens?"

Sylar looked at Peter. He had been wondering the same thing.

Peter was staring off into the distance, then seemed to make up his mind. He looked at Sylar. "I'm going to go and talk to Matt Parkman."

* * *

They parted ways with Hiro and Ando. Peter would contact Hiro when it was time to make their move, but until then, Hiro had things to do in Japan.

"I don't think Parkman will be too thrilled about your visit," Sylar said as they walked to Peter's apartment. They would go there quickly, take what they needed, and go. Good thing Hiro had teleported them a few blocks from the apartment, because Peter still wore only the thin pants and Sylar's jacket.

"He'll listen," Peter said. "That will be enough. I'm sure he agrees that the world isn't a good place for people like us. Something needs to change."

"So what exactly were you thinking of doing?" Sylar asked him as they stepped inside the building and took the stairs.

Peter opened his mouth to answer, but stopped when someone came down the stairs from the floor above. They both stopped, ready to fight, but when Hesam's face came into sight, both of them relaxed a bit. "Peter!" the man exclaimed, stopping as well. "I was so… When did you come back?" he swiftly glanced at Sylar, then back at his partner.

"Just now," Peter said. "Sylar told me you were the one who told him… thank you."

Hesam nodded nervously. "I thought maybe if he knew… I mean, I recalled that I've seen you with someone, and I guess you said you had a friend staying over for a while. I figured that maybe if he was like you…"

"You did the right thing," Peter reassured him.

"Depends on who you ask," Sylar observed.

Hesam gave him a nervous look, then shifted a bit. "I should go…"

"Yeah, us too," Peter said, "Thank you again."

Hesam nodded and moved past them down the stairs. Sylar looked after him, then followed Peter. No one had been in the apartment since he left, he could tell that. He and Peter quickly went and grabbed a couple of bags, taking a change of clothes and other necessary things with them. Sylar was done first, and chose a spot at the window, staring down at the street, listening. Nothing suspicious happened, and when Peter came out he looked like he was ready to go.

Instead of going back down to the street, they went to the roof. The night was cloudy, and it looked like it might start to rain. "Let's go," Peter said after staring at the sky for a moment. He shouldered his bag, then reached towards Sylar, who offered him his hand. He wasn't shocked when Peter soared into the sky a few second later. Instead he merely sped after him, deciding that he needed to trust Peter's plan. After all, Peter had been playing a hero a bit longer than he had…

* * *

Just as Sylar had guessed, Matt Parkman wasn't glad to see them. As soon as he saw them on his porch, he hurried back in. The way Sylar cocked his head told Peter that he was listening to the conversation indoors, but he didn't bother to borrow the ability to do the same; Matt came back soon enough, taking Peter by the arm and guiding him downstairs. Sylar followed with a slight smirk on his face. "I don't see bricks and cement anywhere," he commented.

Indeed, the last time they had all been here, it was when Sylar was caught in a nightmare inside his head and Parkman had planned on leaving him on the other side of the wall – literally.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Matt demanded angrily. "I thought I said I wanted nothing to do with this," he added to Sylar.

"This is something else," Peter said. "We're working on making this all stop."

"How?" Matt asked, sounding highly incredulous. "It's a mess. I think no ability in the world will make it end. My family… I have to keep them safe!"

"Hiro's ability makes all the difference – and yours," Peter added. "And I know exactly where to push to make a change happen."

Matt seemed to think it over, then shook his head. "No. Absolutely no. I promised myself, no more. My family has to come first."

Peter frowned, disappointed. But then, he understood Matt's need to stay clear of this as long as possible, if not for himself than then for his young son.

"Well, thank you for letting us in," Peter said, offering his hand.

Matt took it without a second thought, looking like he wanted to be rid of them as soon as he could. The moment their hands touched, though, Peter focused and absorbed his ability, and Matt must have realized that a moment later.

"I don't need your help directly," Peter confessed, "although I would have preferred you to come and help us."

Matt just looked at him, then practically shoved them out the door. "Good luck," he told them, though, before closing the door.

Peter smiled as they set down the path.

"You got what you wanted?" Sylar asked him.

"I needed his power, yes. I would have preferred him, like I said, because he has more practice…"

"With what?"

"Mind control," Peter replied.

"Whose mind do you plan on controlling?" Sylar questioned as Peter took out his phone and prepared to call Hiro.

"Not control, really," Peter mused. "I would rather like to call it a… push in the right direction. A warning." He heard the dial tone, then Hiro picked up. "We're done," Peter told him. "It's time."

* * *

They reappeared at the edge of the carnival in Central Park. In the woods, it was easy to go undetected. Hiro peered towards the bright lights, chattering voices and music. Peter glanced at Sylar, then nodded and moved forward.

The music stopped as they walked; Sylar must have stopped Doyle and saved Emma. They crept closer between the tents. Peter checked the time, but knew it was no use; they would just have to get a better look and see how things were going. The ground trembled, making them hesitate for a moment, then stopped. The fight had ended. Samuel was taken in by the police. Peter looked around, then finally spotted Claire walking with her father, talking. The press was gathered on the other side of the clearing, talking to a blond woman.

"Soon," Peter said. Hiro nodded; he looked determined. At this point, worrying about a possible outcome was a bit premature.

The press moved over to Claire. She stepped back, hesitated, and Noah tried to stop her. But she went on. She walked through the crowd towards the Ferris wheel. They watched her climb, and Hiro shifted. Peter laid a hand on his shoulder, carefully not to take his power by accident.

Claire stood at the edge, then spread her hands.

"Now!" Peter said, and Sylar grabbed a hold of Hiro just before he stopped time.

It was an eerie scene to walk through; Peter made his way across the clearing, past people who were staring up, some in wonder, some in terror as they began to realize Claire was going to jump. Further away he could see himself, with Sylar, looking up. Noah and the blond woman. Everyone just standing there, but not moving to stop her from telling the world…

Peter climbed up, and he was aware of Sylar following him. He hadn't asked the man to come with him, but it seemed Sylar wanted to help him. As they stood on the top, Peter took one last steadying breath. She looked so… relieved. Like after she did this, all would be well.

But instead she would create a world where nothing would be the same.

Peter looked past her shoulder at Sylar. Their eyes met, and the other man nodded, looking serious. "This is the right thing to do, Peter," he said. "Thousands of lives will be saved…"

Did Sylar really believe that, finally, or was he just trying to help him? At this point, Peter didn't care about that.

He knew what to do. He was determined. He could do this… Peter looked at her unblinking eyes, then pried his way into her mind. It was… strange. Maybe it was the fact that the time was stopped, or perhaps it was his own unwillingness to do this to another person. But he had to do it. He didn't have to try very hard to remember the days he had spent being tortured, and witnessing others suffer before that. Right now, he could stop all that. Right here.

Closing his eyes, he focused. He had a fairly good idea how Matt had done it. And with his own memories – and Sylar's – it was so easy to re-create the world she would create…

Peter opened his eyes and stepped back. Sylar gave him a look, then followed him as he climbed down. They joined Hiro in their hiding place, and after one last nod, Hiro allowed the time to move forward again.

Claire's body swayed a little, then fell. People rushed towards her, but this time she didn't get up. She didn't move. Noah seemed to notice that, and both he and Peter rushed over to her.

"When will she wake up?" Hiro asked, watching as they turned her over. She must have been alive – of course she was – but she still didn't wake up.

"When she's ready, I guess," Peter said, looking at Sylar. "That's how it worked with us."

"And if not?" Hiro asked.

Peter had thought about that. When Matt shut Sylar into a nightmare, the rules were bent a little when Peter joined him. They woke up, though…

Claire, in her nightmare, would have to live in a world that her decision would create. Hopefully when she woke up, she would know better than to out herself and every other special to the world… And if she didn't wake up, the result would be the same. Peter didn't believe she would stay in a dream forever, though.

"What if she still wants to do it?" Sylar asked as they walked back into the woods. Hiro looked at them, no doubt wanting to hear the answer as well.

"Then I guess we just have to try again," Peter decided. "But I don't think it will come to that."

They stopped, and Hiro looked towards the carnival with a wistful look on his face. As if there was something to be missed… Of course, with Hiro's nature, he would have loved for the world to accept him, just like Claire. At least Hiro was able to accept that wasn't going to happen, at least not like this.

"There might be others," Sylar murmured softly, so that only Peter could hear. "There are plenty of files about specials lying around, and sooner or later…"

Peter nodded. He knew that – and feared that day. "Then we'll just have to try again, when that happens," he stated. "Hiro," he added a bit louder. "Let's go." It was time to go home.

For a moment he wondered whether they would actually exist when they returned, but did it matter if they had just saved all those innocent people from their deaths?

"It's done," Sylar said, taking Peter's hand in his. He sounded hopeful, just like he had that night when Claire jumped. Like there was something wonderful to look forward to.

Hiro grasped their joined hands, nodded grimly, and then they were off to a better world.

**The End**

**

* * *

Fanmix**

by Del and Jenny

Dead by Sunrise: End of the World

Karnivool: Deadman

Three Days Grace: Let You Down

The Smashing Pumpkins: The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Styx: Renegade

Skillet: Hero

Creedence Clearwater Revival: Bad Moon Rising

All Thieves: Turn and Turn

A Perfect Circle: Imagine

30 Seconds to Mars: Stranger in a Strange Land


End file.
